


Sitting on the bathroom floor

by zephalien



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Crying, Dissociation, Forehead Kisses, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, alec hardy is a trauma informed hero, not shown, paul cries yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:21:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephalien/pseuds/zephalien
Summary: Paul made ratatouille as a joke for their next date, because Hardy had been complaining nonstop about Fred making him watch it when he had babysat for Ellie the weekend before last. It had the benefit of being a healthy dish, feeling a bit fancy for date night, and making Hardy roll his eyes almost out of his head when Paul had served it onto Hardy's rickety old dining room table.
Relationships: Paul Coates/Alec Hardy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	Sitting on the bathroom floor

Paul made ratatouille as a joke for their next date, because Hardy had been complaining nonstop about Fred making him watch it when he had babysat for Ellie the weekend before last. It had the benefit of being a healthy dish, feeling a bit fancy for date night, and making Hardy roll his eyes almost out of his head when Paul had served it onto Hardy's rickety old dining room table. 

"Do you like it?" Paul had asked, smug after Hardy had finished his portion and was sitting lazily back in his chair pleasantly full and eyes closed. 

"The rat was a better cook." Hardy said, cracking an eye open to grin at him. "But you come in second."

"I'm glad I rank just behind the rat. What a compliment." Paul said standing to clear the table. 

He had tried to take Hardy's plate, but the man came alive when he moved toward him and dragged him down into a lazy slow kiss. Paul was twisted awkwardly holding his plate off to the side, momentarily forgotten despite being clutched in his hand. Hardy rose into the kiss letting Paul stand back up to his full height and causing him to tip his head up to continue the contact unbroken. Hardy broke away, one hand coming up to Paul's jaw to stroke his cheek and lips reverently. His other hand stole the plate from Paul where it was still balanced carefully in mid air and set it gently on the table without looking away from Paul's face.

"The dishes are going to get gross." Paul protested halfheartedly. His heavy lidded eyes flickered from Hardy's mouth to his eyes and back. 

Hardy grunted. "Let 'em" 

Then they were kissing again. 

It had led to the bedroom. 

Something that Paul found unendingly beautiful and intoxicating about Alec Hardy, and had been a note of subtle ease and comfort since the start of their relationship, was that he never pushed. Hardy would do as he was now. Kiss him. Touch him. Reach for him. But it was always with a complete knowledge of where Paul stood in the room. If Hardy had kissed Paul and he hadn't leaned into it so willingly, Hardy would have given him a quick kiss on the lips and released him to fuss with the dishes. They would have argued gently about who was going to do the washing. He could almost hear Hardy protesting that he could take care of it. Paul would have told him he had a long day and he should let himself be looked after every once in a while. 

If, when Hardy had gently tugged the dish out of Paul's hands, he found there to be even an ounce of resistance he would have released his claim on the plate. He would have stepped away without a fuss. 

If, when he walked Paul backwards into the bedroom, lips still pressed together fervently, there had been any hesitance in Paul's gait, Hardy would have ceased the slow entangled meandering immediately. The kiss would have lingered a moment longer, as long as Paul let it, but there would be no more bedroom. No Hardy leaning into him as they lowered themselves gently onto the mattress, eyes and mouths and hands and bodies wrapped up in one another. No warm weight of Hardy's lean chest pressed against his own. Hardy's arms would never have found there way to their current position bracketing his body supporting his weight a little as he dipped his head to continue the soft pressure of his lips moving against Paul's. 

Paul knew all he ever has to do to stop Hardy in his tracks is to show even the slightest hint of trepidation or anxiety. He just has to stiffen, flinch, pause, reel back. Hardy would released his mouth, the plate, his embrace. 

Paul stills now as Hardy's hands tug at his cardigan with the clear intention of undressing him. Hardy removes his hands from the hem. It's such a completely natural feeling reaction that it could have been almost unintentional except for that each was so aware of his own body and the body of his lover against him. 

Paul feels immensely grateful for Hardy in that moment, almost bursting with the pressure of that feeling. Even more so when a moment later Hardy breaks the kiss to ask if he's okay with a careful casual tone to his voice. "Yes," Paul breathes, because he really really is.

The dreamy tone has Hardy surging forward in a more heated embrace now. His hand that isn't supporting his weight is traveling its way up the length of Paul's side and stomach. There's no longer an intention to his motion. No effort to go further than simple intimacy. It's nice and Paul sinks into the safety of it. He feels like he's floating. It's just so comfortable. He had never dreamed he could be this comfortable with someone.

Then all of a sudden, Hardy's hand is wrapped loosely around his wrist. (He knows.) His heart stops in its tracks. All pleasant musings harden and abandon him completely. Every feeling of warmth and safety flees the room like beautiful fleeting dreams he could barely even remember. 

Hardy's hand is wrapped around his wrist.  
It's a gentle touch. He could pull away in a twitch of his arm. Hardy's fingers move tenderly over the haphazard gashes that line Paul's wrist. Paul knows exactly where they are. He knows exactly how many, what they look like, what they feel like, why they were put there, what stage of healing they are in. He knows exactly where they are. Paul's not moving. He's barely even breathing. Hardy has pulled away both his hand and his mouth. Same easy faux casual movements as he always does whenever Paul has hesitated in the past. 

Now, it feels like an accusation. 

Paul pulls in a long intentional quiet breath. He can't show Hardy how panicked he is right now. 

Hardy kisses him sweetly on the tip of his nose and offers a small tired smile as he rolls a bit sideways. "Better get ready for bed. I have a hell of a day tomorrow."

It's said easily. Neutral. Paul forces himself to nod. 

"You want to brush your teeth first?" Hardy offers, leaning his weight the rest of the way off Paul, no longer pinning him to the mattress.

Paul is up in a flash, his own wrist gripped harshly to his chest. He manages to mumble something affirmative as he hurries out of the bedroom. 

\----

His eyes have deep bruised bags under them. He looks too pale. A strange unfamiliarity with his own features settles into his mind. Does his mouth always look so small? Has his jaw always been shaped that way? His thoughts are a jumble. He takes the toothpaste and uncaps it with some difficulty. His hands are shaking, he observes distantly, as he squeezes a little too much onto his toothbrush. 

He doesn't care about brushing his teeth right now, but that was what Hardy had said when he left the room, so he might as well do it. 

The face in the mirror is blank as he watches himself move his brush mechanically around in his mouth. He does it for a while until it feels like he's been doing it too long. 

(Why didn't he say anything?)

He spits the foam paste into the sink and stares down at it as it slops disgustingly down the drain. He remembers to wash his mouth by looking up and seeing the smeared remains of toothpaste around it. 

As he is dipping his head to rinse his mouth out, he hears Alec pad up the hallway behind him, making his way into the bathroom to do his own nightly routine. Alec gives him that slow sleepy smile again. (Why didn't he say anything?) There a small pleasant crinkle around his eyes when he does it. He places a hand on Paul's shoulder as Paul makes space for him at the sink and kisses his temple. (Why didn't he say anything?) Paul looks down and skitters out of Hardy's hands. Alec turns to prepare his own toothbrush. For no reason, Paul stands and watches him do it. 

Hardy brushes his teeth more thorough and focused than Paul had managed, but his eyes dart a few times to Paul in the mirror, still standing off to the side looking at his hands instead of Alec Hardy now. Hardy manages to almost finish before Paul finally speaks. His eyes flick to Hardy's face in the mirror with hard determination. He pulls a harsh breath in.

"Wh-" Paul starts to say, but he chokes on it. His expression breaks into a panicked exhale. Tears start to stream down his face. He closes his eyes tightly trying to will himself to stop. 

Hardy fumbles the faucet on to wash the toothpaste out of his mouth. His toothbrush goes abandoned in the sink and he sprays water down his shirt in his haste. "Paul." He gasps as soon as he has spits the water into the sink. He turns quickly. 

"Paul." He repeats desperately, hesitating with his hands half reaching but paused hovering in between them. 

Paul steps blindly back into the bathroom wall and slides down in until he's in a ball on the floor sobbing. He can't think past the terror. He knows Hardy's standing, hovering awkwardly, above him. 

(He's worried about you.)

(You are scaring him.)

Paul sobs harder as his thoughts become a muddled guilty mess. There's a shuffling sound to the side of him, but he can't bear to look up. He hopes that Hardy has left him alone. He wants to sit here alone in the mess of himself and handle it. The anger he feels at falling apart burns in his chest and he shoves his fists into his eyes as his chest is wracked with a fresh wave of sobs. He curls further in on himself until he feels a warm soft pressure on his knee. 

He chances a look and opens his eyes to see Hardy's hand sitting on his knee. He follows the long bare arm to the source. Hardy looks soft and sweet and tired in his pajamas sitting almost cross legged on the bathroom floor, one knee jutting out at an odd angle. He's leaning toward Paul, but retreats a little when Paul opens his eyes. Hardy quirks his lip up slightly in a gentle smile.

"Hey, darlin'." He says easily. 

Paul's eyes water and he swallows a choked off sob in favor of looking helplessly at Hardy. (Why is he still here?) The words are said with such care and love that it makes Paul's shoulder pull inwards as he shoves himself back further into the wall.

(Why didn't he say anything?)

"Why are you here?" Paul blurts out then flinches. Hardy sat awkward on the hard bathroom floor with him for god knows how long now waiting for him to have a temper tantrum like a baby and Paul rewards his efforts with rudeness.

Paul feels sick with how ungrateful and disgusting his behavior is.

"Sorry." The simple apology falls out of his mouth. He feels like its hollow, not good enough, and tries to sound more properly sorry as he repeats himself.

Hardy lays a hand on one of Paul's that is clenched in his lap. He wraps his long fingers around Paul's, but doesn't try to get him to relax his own at all. Even now, he's being so sweet. It makes Paul's ribs ache.

"I live here." Hardy attempts to joke, but his voice is much too quiet and uneven.

Paul closes his eyes and sighs trying to steady himself somehow. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

Hardy makes a non committal noise and strokes his thumb over Paul's closed hand. He focuses his eyes on their hands to avoid staring directly at Paul and it gives Paul a moment to look him over at length.

"You didn't say anything." Paul whispers.

Hardy's eyes flash up to Paul's and there's something there. Guilt maybe? That wasn't what he wanted either. Why couldn't he say this right?

"I..." Hardy starts, uncertainty rolling off him in waves. "I didn't know whether you wanted to discuss it. If it was me... "

Hardy swallows in a nervous gesture.

"If it was me, I wouldn't want to discuss it. Not like that. Not from just..." He squeezes Paul's fist a little. "It was so sudden. I didn't like you to feel exposed like that."

Paul looses his fist slowly and opens his palm to hold Hardy's hand properly. "I didn't know you ever..."

Hardy gives a grimace, mouth turned up at the corners in a weak mimic of a smile. "Aye."

Paul raises his free hand, shaking like a leaf, to brush Hardy's bangs away from his eyes. Alec's grimacing smirk turns into a soft genuine smile at Paul's touch and he tilts his head a bit.

"Are you feeling well enough to get up off the floor?" Hardy asks calmly after a while. "We don't have to but I promise my bed is much more comfortable."

Paul manages a shaky laugh. "Stop flirting with me. I have a boyfriend."

His voice is weak and strained, but Hardy still smiles at him anyway. "Aye, but he'll not be nearly as good looking as me."

"That's true." Paul says standing up. When he looks back to Hardy, he's trying to unfold his long legs with a blush on his cheeks.

"Oy, help me. I'm not made for sitting on the floor. My poor knees." Hardy complains gently.

Paul chuckles softly at him as he helps drag Hardy up to standing once again. Hardy wraps his arms around Paul immediately after they are both balanced and Paul lets himself lean into it. He doesn't return the hug but he rests his weight against Hardy's chest.

"We'll work it out." Hardy tells him before releasing him to head back to the bedroom.

When Paul gives him a doubtful look, he kisses Paul's forehead and whispers, "I promise."


End file.
